Spectator
by Asellia Skyrunner
Summary: Because the blue eyes that twinkled mischievously mattered to me. Because I was used to the feeling of those thickly muscled arms brushing against mine as we fought off other Academy kids. Cato/OC
1. Chapter 1

**So, I've seen The Hunger Games twice now and started to realize that the Careers are human too. I think it was a little hard to grasp some of that in the book, so here's my attempt to help humanize at least one career (my 2nd favorite), Cato. **

**I'm honestly not so sure how good this is, but I'm giving it a try... Hope you like it! And R&R!**

**~Cali**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. The only characters I own at the moment are ones that aren't mentioned in the book. IE-Nassir, Cormac, and my (currently) un-introduced protagonist.<strong>

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><p>Chapter One: Reaping<p>

I glanced at the clump of boys directly to my left—the 16 year old boys—and was greeted with impish grins from several of them. But one in particular stood out to me because I'd seen it a million times. Because the blue eyes that twinkled mischievously mattered to me. Because I was used to the feeling of those thickly muscled arms brushing against mine as we fought off other Academy kids.

"And for the boys…"

There was a slight, knowing pause as Nassir reached into the bowl full of names. Everyone knew that realistically, it didn't matter who was actually picked because this, _this _was Cato's year.

"Cormac Huntington."

"I volunteer!" He strode forward, a self-assured smirk proud on his lips. Cormac (who the cameras had found quickly, despite the obvious struggle at hand) hadn't moved anyway, most probably because he was thirteen, and thereby, too young to fight Cato for a place in the Games. Even if he had fought, he would have lost. Cato was bound and determined.

And so Cato joined Clove on the stage, his stature and blonde hair setting him apart from her, though the crowd knew Clove could handle her knives just as well as Cato could his sword. The slim, dark haired girl was a force to be reckoned with, and she would likely be neck-in-neck with Cato until someone else took one of them out.

I winced at the thought, trying to ignore the tremors in my hands as Nassir told the two tributes to shake hands. They did, both smirking at the cameras, as if daring the other tributes to try to cross them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of District 2," even Nassir's face held a smile then, because he was the escort for District 2 and that always meant good things. "May I present to you, your tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games—Cato and Clove!"

The people of my district broke into uproarious applause, screaming and cat-calling. I pushed my shaking hands to my sides and cried out along with the rest of them, cheering Cato on. I screamed for him, trash-talking the other districts and feigning confidence as I was expected to.

Cato smiled proudly, electric blue eyes scanning the crowd. His fingers twitched excitedly, as if he couldn't wait to get his hands wrapped around a long knife or sword and start hacking away at the dummies and tributes, which I'm sure was the case, anyway.

He was finally getting what he wanted. Violence. Blood-shed. Adrenaline and wounds and the unpredictability of the gamemakers. His blood-lust would finally be quenched.

So long as he made it out alive.

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><p><strong>So... what did you think? <strong>

**I honestly hope you liked it, because I'm kind of enjoying where this is going... And I promise you'll get the protagonist's name in the next chapter! But this chapter was much more about defining her and her perception/knowledge of Cato than anything else. Her name, as of this point in the story, is rather irrelivant. But you'll get it next chapter (which I'm currently in the middle of writing.)**

**Anyway, please review!**

**Much love,**

**~Cali**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi there, people! :) So... I've spent about 3 days working on this chapter. I've rewritten it. And rewritten it. And rewritten it. :/ Needless to say, it's been a long, tedius, and doubt-filled process. It's worth it, of course, because writing is my passion. **

**Anyway, I've read and re-written this chapter so many times that I don't really know how I feel about it anymore, so reviews would be FANTASTIC. I'll take critique, but please don't flame. I really am trying. So anyway, enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Or Cato. Or much of anything in this chapter that you will recognize. I wish I did, but I'm no Suzanne Collins so...<strong>

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><p>Chapter Two: Speaking<p>

Knowing it was his year hadn't prepared me for that moment. The moment when I realized that the people in the audience—the people of all Panem—would never know the different sides of Cato. They'd know exactly one—the vicious, blood-thirsty side that was stereotypical of most Careers.

They'd never know Cato at five, uncontrollably excited at the prospect of his little sister being born. Or at nine, the boy who cried when the Academy instructors whipped him, but bawled when I intervened and had my own backside split open. They wouldn't know Cato at 10, cracking jokes at his birthday party-gone-wrong. Capitol citizens would never know that at 12 he was yelling at his dad for being drunk in front of his friends. They wouldn't care that at 15 he carried me to the nurse when I twisted my knee so badly I couldn't stand.

They wouldn't know the Cato I loved, despite all his imperfections and anger.

"Cato?"

He turned from the window at the sound of my heels on the hard-wood floor, electric eyes just as energized as his fidgety fingers. "Aria." There was an exuberant smile on his face and it lit him up like the moon over the mountain at the center of our district.

I struggled desperately with myself because I knew I couldn't cry. If I cried, it would all come tumbling out. It'd ruin everything. So, instead, I put my hands on my hips and grinned. "You did it."

"I'm a tribute." He said it like it was just _then _dawning on him, like his previous grin had been something he hadn't thought about.

"Yeah, Cato. You're a tribute. You're going into the games." _And I'm terrified for you… _

His grin got impossibly bigger, lighting him up. His fingers' twitch got exceedingly worse, forced to wait impatiently for the deadly extension of his arm. Anyone who'd seen Cato in action knew that he was one of the best swordsmen District 2 had ever had. And we'd had some _amazing _swordsmen. His best work, however good he was otherwise, was when he was angry. That's when he pushed himself.

"_Cato!" _

_He refused to hear me, blade hacking viciously at the dummies. I could only imagine what had sparked such an impromptu training session. And the fact that I had been uninvited was most _definitely _an indicator. _

"_Cato!" _

_My fingers twisted nervously into the hem of my blouse while I fought off tears. I hated seeing him like this—angry and unwilling to talk—because it meant that he would injure himself before he'd back down. My breathing was nearly in time with his slashing (Inhale, air. Exhale, contact). _

"_Cato!"_

_I couldn't deal with it—his anger and pain. He moved faster than I'd ever seen him move, stabbing with a force he'd never used before. Whatever his father had said or done… it had been bad. Cato was rarely this vicious in training. _

"_Cato." _

_I was quieter this time and his fingers gripped the handle tighter as if in response. I could see a few tears falling down his face, words beginning to stream from his mouth. "That sick _bastard_" he emphasized as he stabbed, "has no idea _what _he's talking about! He needs to _leave._" Stab. "_Mercy." _Stab. _"Alone." _Stab. _

_It was about Mercy, then. That made sense. Cato was more than over-protective with his sister. But there was something in his voice… _This isn't just about her.

"_Cato," I reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, the pressure just light enough that he knew I was there. "Cato, sweetie." It was horrifying how easily I could pluck the blade from his grip. At any other moment, Cato would fight me for that sword—it was his favorite. _

_As I lay the sword on the table behind me, I reached up to stroke his cheek. Even at 13, Cato was handsome in ways most District 2 men weren't fortunate enough to be. The tears became a steady stream, then, hands shaking ever-so-slightly. _

"_Aria." He said softly, "Aria, please don't leave me."_

_I was more than shocked. Cato made it a point to inform _everyone _that he didn't need _anyone. _Even when it was just the two of us and he would admit that he wasn't immortal, Cato was never that… needy. _

"_What the hell are you talking about?" I whispered, curling up at his side as we sank to the ground._

"_I—"_

"You just gonna stand there?" Cato's far-off voice drew me out of the memory to see him already plopped down on the couch in the visitor's room a few steps away from where I stood.

I laughed half-heartedly, shaking my head. "Sorry… just thinking." I sat down beside him and smoothed out the skirt of my dress.

"What about?" He sounded mildly curious, and when I looked up at him, I could tell he was so excited about his status as tribute that little I said in regards to anything would change his mood.

"Not much."

"Liar." He said with a laugh, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

I rolled my eyes, sitting up on my knees as I noticed that, while he looked _fantastic _in his dress shirt, the collar wasn't straight and the shoulders were wrinkled. And no matter how preoccupied I was with his general safety, _that_ was something my mother's meticulous style-training would never let me ignore. Even though he was still sitting and I was kneeling, my eyes were right about level with his collar, which worked perfectly for me, I suppose.

My fingers made quick work of their first task, skimming lithely along the material and tugging it up straight. Every brush of his skin on mine sent shocks up my spine and I allowed myself to be lost in that, because I didn't plan on telling him how I felt before he left and there was a chance that I'd never experience his touch—no matter how casual—ever again. I was so caught up in this horrifying thought-train that I didn't feel his shoulders sag or notice the way his fingers stopped fidgeting.

"Aria?" I'd heard that tone exactly once before—and that day was forever burned into my memory, so out of character had it been.

I froze. "Cato?"

"Stop messing with my collar for a minute." His voice caught.

Slowly, I eased myself back, eyes hunting desperately for his. Again, his name slipped from my lips. "Cato?"

"Why are you here?"

_Because I love you. _

"That's what this time's for. Lov— " I caught myself, but not before it was too late. "Family and friends saying goodbye."

"Goodbye…" He echoed my final word and any possible thoughts of his safety vanished.

"Cato…"

"No. Let me finish." He said it firmly, swallowing hard as he hunted for words again. "In most districts it's because they don't think the tributes will come home."

"Yeah…" I agreed softly, looking anywhere but his eyes. I couldn't. Tears already burned mine, fiery-hot and unforgiving. Looking at him would surely unleash a meltdown that neither of us could afford.

"So… you don't think…" There was no hiding the uncertainty in his voice, and it was something I wasn't used to. When we were kids, we'd both been so curious that uncertainty was useless and as we grew older, it was Cato that had taken on the cocky persona. Aside from a few painful and generally forgotten moments, Cato was Mr. Confidence.

I squabbled for words that weren't there, mouth opening and closing idiotically until Cato's fingers wrapped around my wrist. My eyes flew to his, a knee-jerk reaction that had been ingrained in me from years of training to each other's needs. I'd never made a bigger mistake in my entire life.

Gone was the fire and spark in his eyes, replaced with the vulnerability I knew only from childhood, when he didn't know how to hide it. The Cato I saw was terrified of my words, which would either condemn or gratify him.

If only it were that simple.

"I think I'm scared for you." I whispered, closing my eyes as our foreheads touched of their own accord. "I think that you're strong and you were built for these games… but I also think…" Tears started and wouldn't stop. "I wouldn't know what to do if you _did _die. Because you're the one person I trust and I care about you, Cato. Not like I should—it's not best friend caring or 'brother-I-never-had' caring. It's so much… bigger than that. It's…"

I was crying so hard I couldn't say anything more, not daring to open my eyes because the second I did I would know the truth and that was something I couldn't bear.

"Aria…" My name was strangled in his throat, voice carrying a thousand emotions I couldn't name. "I'm going into the Games…"

"I know."

"I can win." A sliver of strength returned to his voice as both his hands came up to my waist. "And then I'll be back."

"Y—"

Nothing I could have said mattered because his hands moved up to cup my face and before I could register what was going on, his lips were gently pressed to mine and my whole body lit up like someone had set me on fire. It was gentle and sweet, like Cato at 6, picking flowers for his mom on the way home from school.

We broke apart, both inexplicably breathless. "C—Cato." My eyes were wide in surprise, and his were just about the same. I could see in his face that he'd _never _expected a kiss to feel like that.

Again, he drew me close, breath warm and sweet across my lips as his mouth met mine again. And what I'd felt before was nothing compared to what I felt now. He pulled me closer to him, chest-to-chest, so I was sitting in his lap and my arms looped around his neck, pulling us both impeccably closer. This kiss was much harder, faster, filled with longing. (Hidden deep within it was also panic, but we both chose to ignore that.) It was Cato at 14, beating up Ander Mullen for talking about how good he thought I'd be in bed.

And this time when we broke apart, we didn't stare, because that would surely make me cry again. Instead, he pulled me so I lay beside him on the couch and I curled up, laying my head on his chest and relishing in the feeling of his arm around my waist.

"Cato?"

"Mmm?" I could _hear _his grin.

"I love you."

"I know."

For Cato, that was as good as saying the same.

_Maybe he _can _make it out alive…_

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><p><strong>So... what did you think? Liking it? Not liking it? Critique? I'm up for your comments, I welcome them in fact. Just, as previously stated, PLEASE don't flame. <strong>

**Thanks for reading! And please leave a review! It helps!**

**~Cali**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello everyone! :) I spent some of my (ridiculously aggrivating) sick days working on this... so... I hope you guys like it.**

**Oh, and PLEASE please review! Seriously, it helps a LOT. :)**

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><p><strong>This is the LAST time I'm going to do a disclaimer, but I do not own The Hunger Games. At this point, I own Aria and anyoneanything you don't recognize from the book. That is how it will remain. Thanks.**

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><p>Chapter Three: True Introductions<p>

My jaw clenched at the sight of Caesar Flickerman and his powder-blue wig. My family was stoically silent, glancing at me whenever they thought I wasn't looking. All I wanted, really, was to see Cato. I just wanted to know that he was alright, even though I knew the Capitol wouldn't have let anything happen to him before the Games. Not their precious tributes, but _especially _not a Career. And despite how sickening I was starting to realize it all was, I was grateful for that.

Caesar and Claudius did their usual pre-chariot banter, full of teasing and a mild undercurrent of Capitol propaganda. After about twenty minutes of their chatting, the chariots started. The first—District 1 with Glimmer and Marvel—went by in a fuzzy magenta blur. I didn't care about tributes I'd seen approximately twice in my whole life, I just wanted to see Cato. I did note, off-handedly that they _were_ both stunning (if you discounted the horrifying amount of faux colored fur they'd been forced into), though Glimmer much more than her male counter-part, as she was all golden-locks and twinkling green-blue eyes.

Claudius's first words that didn't relate to Glimmer's "shining golden locks" or Marvel's "fantastic posture—that of a real champion", were the words that drew me in.

"Oh my…" Claudius murmured. "District 2 has _really _pulled something off, this year. Remind me… who are their stylists?"

"Nexus and Celine."

To my relief, the camera flashed to Cato and Clove, both adorned in gold and what was sure to become their signature smirks. They were ravishing, with their arms outstretched in a gesture of pure superiority. The hats that adorned their heads were similar to the ones I'd pictured from the stories of the _old, _old days heard only when we were children in school. Either way, the costumes were beautiful.

Cato's eyes flashed towards the camera, and for a split second, I saw the boy I'd known for 13 years. Then, in a blink, he had returned to the killing machine that the citizens of Panem would know him as.

Clove, the last thing we saw before they flashed back to Claudius and Caesar, kept her gaze firm and her mask, impenetrable. But then, Clove was known for keeping up appearances and being sparing with her words. But at fourteen, Clove's words had been the catalyst of more than one fight.

"_Nice throw, Cascara." Clove's sarcasm was sharp as a whip to my ego. She wasn't exactly known for her niceties, but I'd never had a particular bone to pick with her, either. We tended to leave one another to their arenas. _

_Until today._

_I turned to her with a sigh, "Can I help you?"_

"_I don't know…" She threw me her signature smirk. "With aim like _that_, can you?" The ironic part was that while Clove was two years younger than me, she acted like she was older. She always had, and for some reason, no one had kicked any sense into her yet. _

_Cato turned then, and I could feel him standing tall and domineering behind me. With his backup, I didn't need anything else. "I'd like to see you beat me in hand-to-hand before you start talking, Clove. Everyone has their strengths."_

"_And clearly _yours _isn't with knives." _

"_Clearly." I replied with a roll of my eyes. "And from what I've heard, your hand-to-hand could use a _lot _of practice. I'd hate to see someone mess your face up with your own knives because you can't hold your own in a fight."_

_Actually, in that moment, I'd have quite liked to see it._

_Her eyes darkened. "Yeah? Why don't you try."_

"_Gladly." I lunged forward, hands outstretched to pin her shoulders. Her blade swiped silver through the air and I tucked my left in just in time for it to graze the soft skin of my forearm. As if she thought that would really stop me, I'd seen a lot worse in my years. She tried to throw me off as my hands clasped tightly into her shoulder and we slammed back into a training mat, but I was the better fighter. She fought desperately to shake me off. All her squirming had shifted her attention to me (though a bit of it may have fallen to the crowd that was forming around the mat) and plucking the knife from her hand was simple. She still had a lot to learn at 11. _

_Before I could use it, though, I was ripped off of her and thrown back into Cato. The blade of the knife sliced into my hand as my fist clenched around it so it didn't fly away and hit someone. A sharp cry flew from my lips._

_Crouched in front of Clove, was none other than her fellow knife-thrower, Hollimer. He stretched his hand out to her, which she rejected. She pushed herself to the feet, wincing a bit as she rolled her shoulders and glared at me. My blood had stained the front of her t-shirt and her right arm, but all in all, she looked alright._

_Hollimer stepped in front of her with a sigh. "I told you not to mess with her, Clove."_

_Clove sighed indignantly. "I just told her how bad she is."_

"Clove_." He was firm, almost sounding like an adult. Which was astounding to me, since he was 13 just the same as Cato and I. "I told you _specifically _that Aria would beat you. You weren't supposed to fight her until you got better at hand-to-hand combat. _Now you look weak_." He ran his hands through his light brown hair, raising his gaze to the ceiling. _

_Clove actually fumbled then, unsure of herself. I won't lie, watching her like that gave me a sense of pride, because while I may not have had anything against her before, Clove was _certainly _not someone I had any positive feelings for anymore. _

_Hollimer turned on his heel, glancing at me tiredly. Then his gaze rose above mine. "Might want to get her to the nurse, Cato. Looks like her hand's going to be in bad shape." _

_Just then remembering the knife clutched in my hand, I let it drop to the floor. Covered from tip to handle in my blood, it landed with a splat. _

_Cato squeezed my shoulder and started to turn. "C'mon, Aria. Huntington's right." _

"And…" Claudius trailed off and Caesar didn't pick up. By the time I looked at the screen, I saw a boy and girl on _fire. _

"This is… certainly new." Caesar managed. "The new stylists for District 12 are…"

There were no words for what they were, because their creations were beyond words. Powerful. Beautiful. United. The words that came to mind didn't even _begin _to encompass what the tributes looked like and the Capitol citizens were eating it up.

"They're…" Again, words failed the announcers. They, like the rest of the Capitol, like the rest of _Panem_, were eating it all up.

If the costumes were any indicators of success, the Careers were going to have some competition in the 74th Hunger Games.

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><p><strong>Yay for the introduction of new characters! *happy dance* Hahahaha! So, please REVIEW. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like. Tell me what you think of Aria or Hollimer (BTW did anyone notice the connection with Hollimer to another [of my] briefly mentioned character?) or my descriptions of things. <strong>

**So anyway, hope you enjoyed!**

**Until next chapter,**

**~Cali**


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